


Well Met

by Lapin_Agile (Conversant)



Category: Alternity - A Harry Potter Alternate Universe, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter Alternity - Fandom
Genre: Blackstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, HP Alternity, RPG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conversant/pseuds/Lapin_Agile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written 2008-2010. This is part of the "Blackstory" series - backstories featuring the Blacks - and was written while I played Regulus and Barty in the RPG HP Alternity. All the actions of the characters depicted were approved by other players at the time it was written. This story takes place prior to Alternity's divergence from canonical time- and plot-lines, and is canon compliant.</p>
<p>Most first-years look forward to the morning post. Barty, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Met

 

**28 October 1973.**

It was half-seven on Sunday morning, and, as they had every Sunday since the first week of September, the doors swung wide to admit Barty to a near-empty great hall. Not that he needed this evidence to confirm that his peers were a bunch of laggards, sleeping and slouching away hours Barty used to advantage.

Tea, toast, an egg. Soft boiled. Marmalade on the toast since he’d met his goals for the week, but that was strictly a Sunday treat.

Down the table, a couple of fifth-years yawned their way through plates piled high that they refilled more than once.

Barty looked up towards the windows, then to the doors as they opened again. But it was only that third-year, Black. That was all right. The older boys smiled acknowledgement at the newcomer and cleared out, grabbing their brooms as they went.

Barty had yesterday’s Prophet with him, but he’d read all the interesting bits already.

He wished the owls would just come ahead. If they took much longer, Travers and Mackrell would turn up, and while they were nice enough, they could be nosy gits, always wanting to compare what their parents had to say whenever they had letters from home. Barty didn’t like that--even when it was only his mother’s bland missives at stake. Sundays were different. They wouldn’t know what to make of his father’s letters. Or maybe they would. Barty didn’t want to find out. It was none of their business what his father said.

There was a scrape of claws on glass far overhead, and the morning post swooped in, talons first and determined.

****  


**10 November 1973.**

 

> _Thank you for yours from Sunday, Father. I’ve done better this week. Woke fifteen minutes earlier every day. Got in an extra half-mile each morning. I plan to go out again this afternoon to finish out fifteen miles for the week._
> 
> _I did as you said. Professor Flitwick agreed to set me extra assignments so I could advance more quickly._
> 
> _And I did offer again to help Madam Fleet with flying lessons since there are so many stragglers who haven’t managed to test out, but she seemed annoyed not impressed, so I don’t see what I can do._
> 
> _Your son,_
> 
> _Bartemius_

****  


**11 November 1973.**

The owl looked disdainful. She refused the treat he offered and launched herself into the air before he’d prised open the seal. The contents of the package were nothing he wished to receive.

But down the table things were worse.

Regulus Black shouted and sucked his fingers into his mouth. The great grey owl was stalking back and forth in front of him, scolding and snapping its beak. The boy sent Barty a baleful glance when he saw him looking.

Barty turned quickly away.

****  


**17 November 1973.**

Barty hurried through the opening in the wall; the entrance had been unreasonably picky about his pronunciation of the password. Always was when he was pressed for time.

Black was already there and in the best seat by the fire. But at least he was the only one.

Barty retrieved his stationery box from where he’d set it on a side table before heading outside. It was too early to go back to his dormitory to write--not enough light, and his yearmates were all still asleep.

 

> _Father._
> 
> _I did three miles this morning, so I am doing better!_
> 
> __

Barty scratched out the last phrase. Frowned. Picked up his wand and attempted a deletion spell, but that only smeared the whole business.

As he took out a fresh sheet, he saw Black finish blotting his own letter.

‘Better hurry or you’ll miss the post,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘Course, it’s not clear whether they’d be any more disappointed if I failed to send this than they will be when they read what it says.’

Black got to his feet, shrugged on his robes over his pyjamas and headed for the door.

‘Save you some marmalade?’ he asked.

****  


**25 November 1973.**

It was chucking it down outside; Barty’s walk had taken longer than usual; and Mr Filch had caught him in the entry and made him mop up the mud he’d tracked in. Then, as he came through the doors to the great hall, he knocked straight into Regulus Black, who pushed him hard and shouldered past.

One glance and he knew he’d missed the morning post. Crumpled in the other boy’s fist was the Blacks’ weekly missive; Barty would have to climb to the owlery now to retrieve his own.

****  


**2 December 1973.**

‘Hey, Crouch! Slow up!’

It was Black. Barty wouldn’t have stopped otherwise.

‘I see you head out here every morning. How far do you go?’

Barty shrugged. ‘Three, three and a half.’

‘Miles?’

‘It’s good to discipline oneself.’

Black laughed. ‘You sound like my mother.’

‘My father,’ Barty allowed and shrugged again.

‘What’d he say this week?’ Black fell into step as Barty set off again. ‘Wasn’t so good, was it?’

‘Wants a list of all the people I’ve met.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah. Says he expects I should have a great long list of “connections” after a whole term here.’

‘Do you?’

Barty’s laugh was brittle.

‘Just Braithwaite, Mackrell, Travers, and Dyson.’

‘What about the witches?’

‘Don’t count.’

‘You sure?’

‘Even if they do, it’s not what he means by a list.’

‘Well, there’s Travers’ brother, and Pummell, and Peale and Faust. You know them. And Warrington, Corbyn, Marks and me.’

‘I can’t say them. I barely know them.’

‘Well, you can say me, at least.’

‘That’s all right with you?’

‘Said so, didn’t I?’

‘That’d count for something. With my father, I mean.’

Black laughed. ‘Well, all right then. Tell him we’re besties.’

Barty flushed with pleasure and was immediately ashamed because it made Black laugh again.

‘Just don’t tell him I go in for this fitness rubbish. That would be fibbing.’ Black winked and slacked off his pace. ‘See you when you’ve finished,’ he called and turned back towards the castle.

****  


**8 December 1973.**

Barty looked up from writing to find Regulus Black standing at his elbow, waving his finished letter to dry it.

‘You nearly ready there?’ he asked. ‘Because if you are, we might as well go up together.’

‘Oh,’ Barty said. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s okay,’ Black said. ‘Finish up. I’ve still got to seal mine.’

****  


**9 December 1973.**

‘So,’ Black said, plopping into the seat next to Barty’s. ‘She said yes.’

‘What?’

‘Mother,’ he said. As though that explained everything. ‘I told her I wanted to ask you to visit over hols. She said I could. Can you?’

‘Come visit you?’

‘Well, don’t if you wouldn’t like to.’

‘I didn’t--’ Barty stammered. ‘You’re serious?’

‘No. I’m Regulus. Thought you knew that.’ Black was grinning. ‘My brother’s Sirius. Taller, Gryffindor, bit of a berk?’ His voice trailed off over that last bit, and he glanced away.

‘I’d like to,’ Barty began, and the other boy turned back. ‘I’ll have to ask. I think they’ll say yes. Well, I know Mother will. But-’

‘Hard to know about your father?’

‘Well-’

‘I thought he was keen on your making connections. Tell him I’m one of those.’

Barty grinned, and then felt awkward, but Black didn’t seem to mind.

 


End file.
